The times Liesel Meminger fell onto Max Vandenburg's bed
by WalkingWit
Summary: And the one time she pulled him onto hers. How did Liesel Meminger end up in Max Vandenburg's bed? She fell, repeatedly.


**So I originally posted this on my tumblr, but I felt that it should be a proper story on here, so here it is.**

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><p><strong>The times Liesel Meminger fell onto Max Vandenburg's bed, and the one time she pulled him onto hers<strong>

She saved him, all those years ago, in the Hubermann's basement. He had been ready to end it all at times, but then she'd go and do something so wonderful, like walk down the stairs with a snowman in her hands and an impish look on her face. She had found him after he'd been caught halfway to Stuggart. She found him in the crowd, being marched to Dachau and she'd refused to leave his side. He kissed her palms and she was ordered to leave, manhandled, and an anger had flared within him when he saw how she was pushed down. She still refused to leave. (_Not leaving - an act of trust and love, often deciphered by children)_

She had saved him, and now it was his turn to save her. That's how he found himself on her bed, her hot breath against his neck and him murmuring into the night, his fingers threaded through strands of her her. She had gone out that night with her friends from the bookshop she worked at, one of the many in Munich's center. The girls had taken her out, insisting that a twentieth birthday should not be whiled away at home.

Home. Their home. It was a one-bedroom apartment several blocks from where Max worked at the paper, though they treated it as a two-bedroom place. Max slept on the couch in the living room, next to his desk, with a bookshelf situated on the opposite wall. His desk was stacked with drafts of essays and articles and old newspapers, next to a small little lamp and the type writer he slaved over, hours on end for little pay. Past the kitchen and the little table was Liesel's room, with an iron-wrought bed that was once Max's, covered with pale cream colored sheets with little green flowers. Max kept his clothing in Liesel's room, in their shared wardrobe and chest of drawers. He borrowed regularly from Liesel's own bookshelf, but there was no distinction anymore. His, hers, it was all theirs.

The Mayor and Ilsa Herrmann had been worried when two years ago, Liesel announced that she was leaving Molching, that she would go to Munich and live with Max, but she'd be sure to visit often. Max had been taken aback by her announcement. He'd seen her at least once a month after finding her in Herr Steiner's shop, when they cried and hugged and fell to the floor, but he didn't think, she'd never indicated...

It was improper, the Mayor said, that a young woman live with a man who is not her husband. Max had itched to say that if that was the only objection he would take Liesel to town hall this very instant, if she'd have him, but there was no need. Liesel pouted and Herr Steiner was the one, in the end, who stated the obvious, that she was a grown woman capable of making her own decisions; and that it was up to Max to accept or decline her request. As if Max could ever say no to her. Two days after her 18th birthday, Liesel moved into Max's apartment, and Max into the living room.

"Max," she said with a little pout, "we could add another bed to the room so you don't sleep on the couch."

"I'm fine, Liesel," he smiled at her (reassuringly, he hoped), but she merely narrowed her eyes at him.

(The distance between their beds, from her room to the living room, allowed Max to hide his nightmares for the longest time. Eventually the distance ceased to exist)

One night Liesel awoke to a loud crash from the living room, and Max's swearing. Bewildered, she padded into the living room wearing her socks and nightgown, its hem swirling about her ankles. She found him at his desk, hunched over that typewriter of his, in the pale light of their sorry excuse for a lamp. There was sweat on his brow despite the chill of the February air let inside by a window he had opened.

"Max?" she asked tentatively.

His movements stilled and he turned to look at her. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her mussed golden hair and rumpled nightgown.

"I'm sorry I woke you," he said sincerely.

"It's no matter. I'll make tea, ja?" she asked, not waiting for an answer. She set about filling the kettle and placing it on the stove. Liesel took out two mugs and two bags of tea, and then she then walked to the bookshelf, plucked a book of her choosing, and settled onto the couch. The spot where Max had vacated was still warm and heat rose to her cheeks while her fingers toyed with the frayed edges of the blanket.

She opened the book, brain not processing the words written on the page. Her eyes darted between the book and Max, searching for signs of distress. She bit her lip and was jolted out of her reverie by the whistling of the kettle.

"I'll get it," Max said before she could get up.

He went to the kitchen and Liesel turned her head, eyes fixed on him. He had been thin before, starved despite Rosa's attempts to fill him up with pea soup. He was likely worse off in Dachau, but he never spoke of it. He looked healthier now, his face fuller. Though still lean, his body had filled out and he looked stronger. The faint wrinkles around his eyes and the bags he'd get under them after a restless night were the only obvious signs pointing to the horrors he'd faced.

"You're staring," Max said as he placed the cups down on the coffee table (an old one, a gift from the Herrmann's, in fact).

He sat down next to Liesel, who picked up her mug and drank hurriedly, burning her tongue and warming her hands a little too much in the process. Max's lips quirked into a half-smile and he carefully took the cup from her, then covered her reddened palms with his hands.

"You don't have to stay up with me," he said.

"I want to," she said simply.

Max gave her hand a light squeeze and she smiled. Then he let go and she picked up the forgotten book to preoccupy herself.

"You should sleep," he said.

"So should you," she countered.

She began reading aloud and Max closed his eyes, being taken back to the feverish nights he spent in and out of consciousness in the basement, Liesel's voice being the only sound he remembered.

He took a sip of his tea, then another. Liesel turned the page. He took more sips until it was half-finished, and Liesel kept reading. Her voice lulled him into a calm, relaxed state, until somehow his head found its way onto her lap, and her free hand stroked his forehead, and her fingers carded through his feathery hair. She wouldn't pry about his nightmares, but she'd stay with him. (_Not leaving_ - _an act of trust and love, often deciphered by children)_

He closed his eyes and let Liesel's voice and touch wash over him. Liesel, Liesel, Liesel.

Her breath hitched and her voice faltered as Max shifted, his face pressed against her leg. Heat rose in her belly, the same heat from when she saw Max emerge from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. Now his face pressed against her thigh, his breath warm. She wondered what his breath would feel like on her bare skin, under her nightgown. She fidgeted, feeling like a silly little girl.

Things were so much simpler when she was younger. She was so much happier, How could she have been so happy during such a terrible time? First her mama and brother, then Max, then Mama and Papa and Rudy, oh Rudy, (she remembers the lemon haired boy so vividly, sometimes she thinks she hears him call to her, _how about a kiss, Saumensch?_ and it takes her willpower to not cry)-all the people she loved were taken from her, but Max, Max came back.

She stopped reading and placed the book next to her cooling tea. Tears welled in her eyes and she let them fall silently, fingers still entangled in Max's hair.

He awoke groggily, his neck at a strange angle. He realized that his pillow was not a pillow, but was in fact Liesel. Blood rushed to his face and he shook his head, pushing the thought of what Liesel's skin would feel like, what it would taste like. He was disgusted with himself, but did not dwell for he heard sniffles.

"What's wrong?" he sat up immediately.

He couldn't have been asleep for very long. The lamp still burned and until two seconds ago Liesel's hand had still been on him (he longed for her to touch him again but this was not the time)

"Nothing. I just...I miss them so much," her voice shook and he placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Oh, Max," she cried and turned to him, pressing her cheek against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her.

They remained that way for who knows how long, until one of them drew the blanket around them and they awoke late in the morning, lying down: Max on the couch, and Liesel on top of him, nuzzled between his warmth and the blanket.

Sleepy-eyed, Max kissed the top of Lisel's head, and she smiled against his chest.

Still half asleep, she whispered, "I never want to move."

His heart jumped into his through. _Neither do I_, he wanted to say.

They never spoke of it. Max's hours grew longer, and Liesel immersed herself with working at the shop at making friends with the other girls.

On a surprisingly warm April night, Liesel stumbled through the front door, giggling at her clumsiness. She kicked off her shoes as not to wake Max with the _click-click_ of her heels, and shut the door behind her. She shed her thin sweater, then unbuttoned her blouse. She slid off her skirt and stockings, leaving her in naught but her underwear and shift. She cast a long glance at Max, who looked so peaceful, and unthinkingly sat on the edge of the couch, then lay herself down next to him. She curled herself towards him, her nose brushing against his shoulder. She knew she smelled like cigarettes and alcohol, but she felt light and happy and the only way to be even happier was if she were beside Max. She was happiest with Max.

When Max Vandenburg awoke the next morning he nearly had a heart attack. Liesel Meminger, the girl full of wonders, was next to him. Now this had happened once before so he would not have been so concerned. Except, this time she was in only a shift and he felt himself stiffen. He couldn't move. She leaned against him, her fist closed around the loose fabric of his shirt, and her mouth slightly agape. He laughed to himself. He'd be late for work, because with the way she clung to him there was no way he could move without waking her. He'd be damned if he wake her when she looked so at peace.

After that morning, it became something of a habit. A regular occurrence. Liesel would bid Max goodnight and retire to her room under the pretense of sleeping in her own bed, only to emerge from her room to crawl under the blankets on the couch with Max not long after.

"Perhaps I should take my bed back," he mused, "so that we might have enough space to sleep comfortably."

The weather had gotten hot and humid, as it was well into summer. The blanket had been replaced by a linen sheet; Liesel's nightgown replaced by one of Max's old shirts that hung to her knees; Max's soft pants replaced by shorts, his undershirt remaining at one last attempt at modesty.

"Perhaps," Liesel agreed, "I like sleeping next to you. I am plenty comfortable, unless I'm bothering you."

"Liesel-"

"Shush. I sleep better. I feel safe and calm and I dream less. You cannot make me leave you," she said seriously, her eyes meeting his.

_(Not leaving - an act of trust and love, often deciphered by children)_

"I would never," Max promised.

Liesel smiled, "Good."

She kissed his cheek quickly, and his arm settled around her waist, just like the countless times before.

"Good," he echoed, a small smile crossing his features.

Her little habit continued through the summer and into fall. Max began to think her having her own room and bed was completely pointless and wondered whether he should just sleep there and see what she would do. He never tested this scenario out, and as fall turned to winter and the weather got colder, he thought that maybe he should.

"Did you know that sleeping naked keeps the body warmer?" Liesel asked one particularly cold evening.

She was wearing her nightgown and a robe, with her blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The heating wasn't working and she was shivering and Max nearly choked at her words.

"I read it in a book about camping," she added.

Max tried to calm himself.

"I think that applies only when outdoors," he suggested.

She hummed thoughtfully, and leaned her head against Max's lap. His breathing quickened and if Liesel noticed, she paid him no mind. He pushed back a lock of her stray hair and she let out a rather contented noise.

"How was work?" she asked.

Tiring, but worth it. Long hours, though. Hours he'd rather have spent with her. He asked her about the shop and she made an off-handed comment about a new customer who always seemed to be in need of this book or that and Max paid it no mind but he should have. He really should have.

One night, Liesel stopped creeping into the living room. She had stopped creeping long ago, instead claiming the couch far before Max on most nights. But now she did neither. She remained in her room the entire night and Max barely slept. She still hadn't ventured out and Max had to go to work, and spent the entire day worrying.

When he came home he found her sitting at his desk, holding a picture of the view from their kitchen he had hastily drawn the night before in his restlessness.

"I've been asked to go to the cinema," she said.

"That's nice," Max offered a gentle smile. Greta and Margritte were nice girls. Liesel should have friends her own age, after all. And he went out with the gang from the paper, so it would be good for Liesel to go with her friends.

"It was Johann who asked," she added. The insistent customer.

His smile faded.

"How kind of him. Are you going?"

"Do I have a reason not to?" she asked pointedly.

When he gave no response, she muttered what sounded like 'I thought so' and stood to go to her room. She did not come to him that night, nor any other night for weeks.

Until her birthday, that is. No, that's not quite right. He went to her. He had purchased a cake from the bakery and had wanted to surprise her, but she'd gone out with the girls and Johann, and Max was left to his own devices. She was probably out having a good time, but he waited up for her.

She came home a little before midnight, looking pale and wild-eyed.

"Liesel?"

She looked at him with large, sad eyes, before running into her room. Without thinking, he followed her.

He opened the door to see Liesel trying to unbutton her jacket with shaking hands.

"Liesel," he said again.

She turned to look at him, cheeks streaked with tears. He stepped forward and his fingers worked against the buttons on her jacket deftly while she collected herself.

"They made a toast to family. _Family_," she started, "my family is dead, Max. They're all gone. Except for you."

He looked up from her jacket, his brow furrowed.

"You're my family," she bit her lip, "I wanted to say thank you. You wished me a happy birthday and I left without a word. I'm sorry, Max."

"It's okay," Max said, "Families quarrel."

Liesel let out a shaky laugh.

"I bought cake. Let's go have a slice, huh birthday girl?" he asked her.

She nodded slowly, then chewed on her lip again.

Max moved to the door to let her change, but she stopped him.

"Max?" she said in a small voice.

He looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue.

"Will you stay with me? And we can have the cake in the morning?"

He nodded, then turned around while Liesel undressed. Left in her shift, she slipped under the covers of her bed, and Max followed, sitting next to her. He wrapped his arms around her and she immediately felt herself relax. Her breath warmed his neck and jaw while he played with the ends of her hair. She pulled away a bit and kissed his cheek, then she pressed a ghost of a kiss to his lips.

Max, in his confusion, remained still. Liesel immediately backpedalled, apologies ready to spill from her lips. Before she could say anything, Max's lips found hers.

It was a firm kiss, soft and sweet, before turning hungry. Liesel wrapped her arms around Max's neck and she pulled him down on top of her. Max's hand slid up her leg and he broke the kiss, brow raised in question. She nodded, and his heart felt light. They were always careful with their words, their precious words. In this instance it seemed that no words were sufficient to describe how they felt. Immensely happy. Euphoric. Relieved. Loved. So, so loved.

"Don't leave me," she whispered as they held onto each other.

"Never," he promised, "you're my family, Liesel. Always."

_(Not leaving - an act of trust and love, often deciphered by children)_

The next night, Max moved back into his old room. Liesel no longer crept out to the living room to join him in his slumber. They shared the room, the bed, the blankets and the pillows. Nightmares came on occasion, but they had each other. Some nights they'd read to each other, other nights they'd preoccupy themselves with other activities, sometimes they would wake at dawn, other times in the afternoon. Liesel no longer had to fall into Max's bed (couch), nor did she have to pull him onto hers. No, they slept on their bed, in their room, and really, it had always been theirs, hadn't it?

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><p>So I really had to get this out of my system, I hope it was worth the read. Please let me know what you think!<p> 


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